


a monster love like you

by opheliahyde



Category: From Dusk Till Dawn: The Series
Genre: 5 Times, Anal Sex, Bathing/Washing, Blow Jobs, Car Sex, Codependency, Come Eating, Face-Fucking, Facials, Felching, Huddling For Warmth, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Sexual Assault, Jealousy, Light Bondage, M/M, Porn with Feelings, Rimming, Rough Sex, Semi-Public Sex, Sibling Incest, Tie Kink, Trick or Treat: Treat
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-28
Updated: 2018-11-28
Packaged: 2019-08-06 14:20:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,596
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16389341
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/opheliahyde/pseuds/opheliahyde
Summary: Five heists and their aftermaths.Or:five times Seth and Richie had sex after a job.





	a monster love like you

**Author's Note:**

  * For [scorpiod](https://archiveofourown.org/users/scorpiod/gifts).



> Hello! I hope you don't mind almost 15,000 words of PWP and not much of the actual heists, but this got away from me—if you aren't, _I am so sorry_. I tried my best to include as many of your kinks as possible to make this enjoyable. I hope you like this, and happy trick or treat! 
> 
> Many thanks to my beta, D, without whom this would not be possible. Any remaining mistakes are my own. 
> 
> Title taken from Goldfrapp's _Monster Love_.

**i.**

It was Richie’s idea.

(it will forever be known as _Richie’s idea_ as long as they live, when they tell this story—it’ll become a story, another job he’ll bring up sometime down the line _, Remember what happened in Boston_ , another chapter in the book they’re building together, job after job, heists not written down and recorded, but told orally, the way back old school kind of way where it evolves, gets embellished and they make their own truth, but it will always begin with it was _Richie’s idea_ )

Seth hadn’t wanted to come this far North, and sure as fuck never in the middle of fucking January, but Richie promised it would be easy, in and out, and the score was too high to pass up, so he let Richie drag him up to the Northeast, to the land of snow and ice and misery. The job almost went South, but they got out by a hair, fucking master artists of the quick escape when they’re in a jam—he stole a heap of junk that someone called a car (not Seth, it was a pile of junkyard scraps on wheels, but it was the wheels they needed), rusted and banged up, but it got them out of the maze of the Downtown Financial District and on the road to elsewhere.

Seth kept to the backroads as per Richie’s request, _stay off major highways, Seth, they’ll be crawling with troopers_ , but it was easy to get turned around on the twisty, winding paths, carved into the landscape rather than taming the wilderness to suit civilization. He missed the long flat roads of the west, sketched out in straight-lined grids, uncomplicated and sensical. He didn’t know if they were heading North or South when the fucking piece of shit rust bucket sputtered and died, unable to be revived, not matter how much he tried, his hands turning to ice.

“Come inside the car,” Richie tells him, shoes crunching over the snow as he nears, breath fogging up in the air like a cloud of cigarette smoke, arms wrapped around himself (neither of them had thought to buy winter coats, rookie fucking mistake). “It’s no use and I’m not going to let you freeze to death because you’re a fucking mule.”

Seth slams the hood shut, lifting his hands to blow on them, rubbing them together—he can’t feel them beyond the tiny pinpricks aching through his joints. “We’re just going to freeze to death together in the car,” he says, but follows Richie anyway, both of the bypassing the front seats and sliding into the back, meeting each other in the middle (it doesn’t bother him so much, dying—pisses him off a bit, makes him cranky, but he’s not alone and that’s more than he can say for most people; he’s got Richie and that’s enough).

Richie snorts, eyes rolling up, mouth stretched into an unimpressed flat line. “We’re not gonna freeze to death.” He pulls off his suit jacket and Seth begins to tell him to _put it back on, what the hell are you thinking_ , but Richie’s fingers go to his throat, loosening the blue tie around his throat and pulling it off, then opening the buttons underneath it, splitting his shirt down the middle.

Seth’s throat might have gone dry if it wasn’t already, trying to figure out how his circulation works when it bypasses warming his hands to filling his cock and making it ache in an entirely different way. “Well, that’s one way to keep warm, brother,” Seth says, inching closer, watching Richie pull his shirt out of his pants, sliding it off his arms. “But I don’t think you want my hands on your dick right now—they might stick.”

Richie shoots him a look and Seth’s not sure what he did to earn the _don’t be stupid_ look; Richie sighs. “That wasn’t what I had in mind. Body heat transfers better with skin to skin contact.” He drags a blanket into his lap, pulled off the back of the seat, gray and thick, and when Seth reaches out to touch it, he realizes it’s wool. “Got a few of these to bundle up in, at least until the sun rises and we can make a run for it.”

“You’re telling me to get naked, then?” Seth grins, biting down to keep the chattering at bay. “That sounds like an invitation, brother.”

Richie smiles a bit—Seth can tell, corners of his mouth upturned as he bites into it, slows the curving, bottom lip trapped between his teeth. “Keep your socks on, don’t want your toes to get frostbitten.”

Seth pulls the tie loose from around his throat, yanking it off over his head, slides his jacket off as he shudders and shivers, instincts telling him to put it back on and wrap it around tight, but he listens to Richie, follows his brother’s lead, eyes on Richie’s trembling hands opening his belt as he shifts closer, pressing  knee to hip with Richie. “Whatever you say, brother,” he whispers, his breath a gust of fog, ghosting around Richie’s throat. “You’re the boss.”

Richie glances up, his eyes peering into Seth like he was already naked, stripped of more than his clothes, blue eyes sharp-edged, peeling away his skin to get at what’s underneath. It’s fucked up, but it gets Seth hard when Richie looks at him like that, too long and too intense.

Seth works his fingers down the buttons on his shirt, trying to get out of his clothes quick, catch up with Richie who’s got his pants off and is reaching for his undershirt—it shouldn’t have been easy with more of his skin being exposed to the cold, jagged air, pricking him and  leaving him feeling burned and rubbed raw, making his nipples pinch up hard and painful, while his fingertips are going numb, but he manages, kicking off his underwear last. Richie grabs for him, tucks him against his side like they were still kids, arm around him as Seth burrows against his side, into his heat, and Richie throws the blanket over them, itchy but warm, another to go across their laps, their feet holding it down to keep the air out.

“Give me your hands,” Richie says as Seth lifts them, feels Richie enclose them in his palms—bigger than his, long slender fingers, made for cracking safes and Seth open; he brings Seth’s fingers to his mouth and breathes out over them, rubbing their hands together to create heat from friction and Seth starts to feel them again, white-hot at first, until it settles.

 _Thanks,_ he had meant to say, but sometimes Seth’s brain gets scrambled, actions before thought, before words, and his mouth ends up on Richie’s jaw, open and wet. He drag towards the corner of his mouth when Richie turns and meets him, kisses him with their hands knotted tight, kisses him slow and languid, opening his mouth as Seth presses inside, presses as close as he can get (he wants more, wants their skin to meld, wants to slip inside Richie and never come back out, build a home under his skin, sleep cradled in his ribcage).

Richie pulls away first, and breathes out. “Seth—”

Seth chases him, kissing his chin, the the edge of his bottom lip, quick, brief grazes of his mouth as Richie sucks in a breath. “You said you wanted to keep warm, brother.” Seth untangles his fingers from Richie’s to slide his palm up his neck, hold Richie by the jaw, thumb grazing his pulse—it thumps under his touch, hard like Seth’s heart is pumping, circulation going, heat breaking out across his skin and the blanket trapping it as blood floods into his cock; Richie too, cock twitching and grazing Seth’s thigh. “Let me keep you warm.”

Richie kisses him, traces the _yes_ across the roof of Seth’s mouth with his tongue.

He goes easy when Seth lays him out across the back seat, careful to keep the blankets tucked around them, watchful of Richie’s head, folding his knees up so Seth could fit on top of him, between them, Richie’s thighs squeezed around his hips as he covers him. Seth wants to tell him what he looks like, gorgeous and pale, freckles standing out in the moonlight, the yellow streetlamp smearing his skin like faded bruises and his mouth swollen and pink, eyes blown black as he stares up at him, but all he can choke out is, ”fuck, Richie,” his name cracking on Seth’s lips as he plucks his glasses from his face, folds them careful and sets them above them on the ledge behind the seat.

Seth strokes him as he settles closer, pushing his hands between their bodies, his palm going up the underside of Richie’s cock as it grows against his stomach, dragging the back of his knuckles back down—Richie holds his gaze as he gasps and moans, never letting his eyes flutter closed, focused on Seth as Seth makes him shudder and arch, legs shifting up around his waist. “Come on, brother,” he says, hands finding a grip at the edge of Seth’s ribs, digging into the space underneath. “Do it.”

He touches with his fingers first, Richie jerking underneath him when he makes contact. “You’re still open,” Seth tells him, leaning his forehead on Richie’s, pressing his fingers inside of him and finding they go easy, Richie still stretched and swollen. “Still wet, a bit sticky.” His mouth twists, grinning down at Richie. “You think you could take me like this,” he says, curling his fingers forward as he pushes them all the way inside. “Want me again, big brother?”

(It had been a quick fuck, trapped in a bathroom stall, waiting for the cops to clear and Seth couldn’t resist, hyped up on adrenaline and Richie too close, breathing on his neck, the scent of him choking in Seth’s throat—he had Richie pressed against the stall before he could stop to think, hand on the back of Richie’s neck, pinning him in place as he got his pants down around his knees, slick fingers between his legs, lubed up from the packet he kept in his pocket— _just in case_ ; Richie took him easy, whining for it as he bit down on his cheek, letting Seth shove inside him to shake loose the chemicals firing through his veins)

Richie shoves his mouth up against Seth’s, a brief bruising kiss before he falls away, breathing out, “ _please_.”

It works its way down his spine and through to his toes, the way Richie’s voice sounds, wrecked and whisper-quiet, begging Seth in a low way that feel like a choke-chain and Richie’s got the end of the leash, tugging until Seth does what he wants. “Okay,” he says, kissing Richie between words. “Okay, Richie, okay. I’ve got you.”

Seth nudges his cock in slow, eyes locked with Richie as he works his way inside, hands on his stomach, the muscles tightening under his palms as Richie’s breaths grow shallow, his chest rising and falling with rapid pace, soft whimpers pushing past his teeth and breaking on his lips. Seth feels him draw him in, hot around his cock when he comes to rest inside his brother.

He doesn’t fuck Richie for a few moments, holding still as he lets his palms stroke up the sides of his torso, reaching up to push back his hair—damp and sweaty, his skin beginning to dew, making him glow in the minimal light, the red under his cheeks setting off the blue hue. Richie digs his nails in deep, heels of his feet pressing at the small of Seth’s back, but he doesn’t move until he’s got Richie’s face cupped in his hands, fingertips pressed under his jaw, behind his ears.

He thrusts once, then twice, listening to sounds Richie makes, guttural and low, pitched as he whines for it, while Seth picks up a steady rhythm, strong deep thrusts that never falter, hips pumping in time to the thud of Richie’s heart against his chest.

  


 

 

 

**ii.**

It was supposed to be an easy job, in and out—someone tipped them off about a guy who didn’t trust banks, kept a hefty score, all in cash, in an old safe in his apartment; all they had to do was break in, cut the security alarm—it was an easy nab. The old man was on vacation down south, waiting out the winter. They hadn’t counted on the guy in loose running short and tank top moseying down the hallway, pulling his ear buds out when he saw them.

It’s not like they could help it—the guy coming out of nowhere as they were breaking in, Richie on his knees picking the lock and Seth quickly makes up an excuse.

 _(I know how bad this looks, but the old man asked us to water his plants and check out the place—damndest thing though, he forgot to give us a key_ —the guy bought it, hook, line, and sinker. Richie realized it had less to do with what Seth was saying and more with how he looked, the guy’s eyes scanning up and down Seth’s body like he saw something he liked, and Seth grinned, teeth sharp while Richie’s stomach churned, clenching his jaw while he worked the door open.)

Richie tries to ignore it, the indistinct muffled sounds of conversation, Seth’s false laugh cutting through the wood of the door setting nerves on fire—he grinds his teeth through opening the safe and tries not to imagine what Seth is doing, how he might have the guy backed against the wall, leaning on his arm, anchored by his hand above the guy’s head, like some bad boy greaser in an old flick, charming the girl to take a ride with him after school. When they fall silent after a dull thump against the door, the feeling gets worse, Richie’s skin tight as something pricks behind his eyes, making his head spin and it grows difficult to swallow.

It’s a miracle when he gets the damn safe open, stuffing all the cash inside a black duffle bag.

Seth and the guy are nowhere to be seen when Richie slips back out into the hall, and for a moment, it makes Richie feel like an amatur, sweaty palms and heart pounding, fear wreaking havoc under his skin—but he’s not worried about getting caught, takes smooth, strong strides down the hallway, head up and shoulders back, confident no one who sees him could tell, used to hiding his emotions behind a mask of indifference. He waits in the alleyway around the corner, like they agreed to meet if something went awry. No car this time because it’s their city, no one knows the streets better—if it came to a chase, a car would be useless compared to how they can navigate through the in between spaces, the nooks and crannies and back alleys they’d made their turf when they were kids.

Richie pulls out a cigarette from his coat pocket and sticks it in his mouth, cupping his gloved hand around the flame as he lights the end—he breathes in deep when he takes the first drag, something soothing in the way the toxins burn in his lungs, corroding away his nerves as he puffs the smoke back out, a thick cloud bolstered by the condensation of his breath in the winter air. He tries to keep his mind blank, white noise and bad television reception, and not of where Seth might be, what Seth might be doing to save their asses.

He gets halfway to the filter when Seth turns the corner, looking a little mussed as he adjust his coat; when he gets closer, Richie can see how pink his lips are, flesh swollen. He tosses the bag at Seth, hits him square in the chest.

“Hey!” he says, catching it easily, hefting it over his shoulder. “What was that for?”

Richie tosses the half-finished cigarette to the ground, stubs out the heat with the toe of his shoe. “Nothing.” He brushes past Seth, moving to the other end of the alleyway.

Seth grabs on and holds him before he gets further. “Well, something’s got your shorts in a bunch. Which is a goddamn shame considering what we just pulled off and how set we’re going to be for a while. Now, brother, tell me what’s—”

Richie takes the wrist of the hand Seth had clenched over his shoulder and twists his arm back, folding it behind him as he shoves him face-first into the brick. “Don’t _touch_ me,” he breathes into his ear, crushing him against the wall with his body. “Don’t fucking act like you don’t know. I hate it, I _hate_ —” Richie hiccups, throat tightening on the word as a whine builds, a sharpness shredding his voice. “What did you do?”

“Do what?” Seth asks, slow and careful; he slides the bag off his shoulder, lets it drop on the ground. “Do what, brother?”

Richie has to lean on him, fingers stroking above Seth’s pulse as he ducks his forehead against the back of his neck; he goes hard, feels it with the heat pooling in his belly, twisting around with the sickness in his gut over it, how it claws at his insides to know and combats with his desire just to erase it with his body—pull off Seth’s clothes and make him take him, remind him where he belongs with his pants around his thighs and Richie’s teeth in his skin.

“To _him_ ,” he finally gets out, tasting bile at the back of his throat.

Seth wriggles against him. “Let me go and I’ll show you.” Richie loosens his grip enough for Seth to slip loose, turning to face Richie, but he doesn’t flip their positions, doesn’t shove Richie back against the wall; instead, slips to his knees like that, while Richie’s hands fall against the brick, Seth’s fingers going for belt, pulling it open as he does the same to his pants, hand delving inside until he’s got Richie’s cock.

Richie drops a hand to the back of Seth’s head, sliding back and down his neck until he’s cupping his jaw, tilting his head up to meet his eyes. “Did you like it?” he asks, gripping Seth’s face hard enough to hurt, but Seth nudges his face into it, eyes fluttering closed for a moment before opening up to hold Richie’s gaze.

“Hated it,” he says, drawing Richie’s cock out; it’s cold and Richie shivers when the air grazes his exposed skin, but Seth warms him with his hands, stroking back and forth over his length. “It was nothing like you. I only want to do this for you.” Seth tips his head down and kisses the head of his cock—habit or ritual, Richie could never tell, but he’s done every time since they started this going between them when Seth was a knobby-kneed thirteen-year-old, kissing his cock before he tried to take all of him into his mouth, choking around his cock.

Richie loosens his grip, thumb skating down the jut of his cheekbone; Seth’s face is sharper now, bones setting as the roundness of youth melts away—he looks harder-edged, except like this, looking up at Richie with soft eyes and lips parted, a pink flush to his cheeks, darkening his tanned skin. “Tell me,” he says, nudging his thumb against the fullness of Seth’s bottom lip, stroking down the curve of it.

“I only want your cock in my mouth, brother,” Seth says, flicking his tongue over the head of Richie’s cock, making his hips jerk. “I fucking love the feel of you on my tongue, sliding down my throat—I love how you taste.” He swirls his tongue around, lapping up the slickness dripping out, licking his lips after. “You wanna fuck my mouth?” he asks, squeezing around the base of Richie’s cock. “I didn’t let him do that because that’s for you, only for you. Come on, brother, I want you to.”

“Seth,” Richie says, cupping his cheek, softer this time.

He takes Richie into his mouth then, swallowing down as much as he can, while he presses his tongue up against the underside of his cock. Richie’s hips snap as his hand falls back, gripping hard on the short strands of Seth’s hair when Seth’s lips brush near the base of his cock, his mouth feeling slick and hot around Richie, working a groan from his mouth when Seth’s throat tightens around him.

“ _Fuck_ , brother,” he breathes out, low and thick, “fuck.”

Seth pulls off, looking up at Richie with dark eyes, licking his lips; Seth always looks good like this, on his knees, mouth red from sucking cock. “You like that?” Seth asks, fingers nudging Richie’s pants further down to trace the jut of his hipbone.

Richie pulls on Seth’s hair, tugs his head back, liking the cry Seth makes—caught between a whimper and a moan, the sound shuddering through him. Seth looks up at him, eyes fixed, panting as he waits.

“Did I say you could stop?” Richie asks, feeling Seth try to shake his head in his hands, groaning when Richie pulls again. “So why did you?”

Seth sucks his bottom lip into his mouth, biting down on the flesh, groaning low in his throat. “Please,” he gasps.

Richie cups his other hand around Seth’s cheek, rubbing his thumb over his cheekbone. “Please what, brother?”

“Let me suck your cock.”

Seth opens his mouth after, making his lips pursed, slick from licking them and he keeps whining, keening on his knees for Richie, but a mean thought tumbles around in Richie’s head, jealousy simmering underneath his skin about how much Seth loves this, how Seth got paid for this, how he doesn’t know how many dicks his brother has sucked and never will.

Richie lets go of Seth’s hair and pulls his hand from his cheek, lets his hands reach for the brick wall in from of him, letting his palms hand there, spreading his legs and canting his hips so his cock brushes against Seth’s mouth.

“Then suck,” he commands, a wild frisson working up inside of him, sick and hot and twisted, letting out a rough groan when Seth leans forward and lets Richie thrust into his mouth, closing his lips around Richie as he shoves in deep—too deep, Richie can see by the wetness forming at the corners of his eyes he keeps trained on Richie, even as Richie stuffs his cock down his throat, feeling the flutter and constriction of Seth gagging, but holding on, working his mouth around Richie.

Just as Seth gets used to his cock, Richie rolls his hips back, sliding himself almost all the way out, letting Seth breathe as he laps at the head of Richie’s cock, then he thrusts in again, harder this time, faster, seeing how much Seth can really take. Seth chokes this time, but keeps his mouth around Richie, doesn’t push him away, even as the tears break the brim of his eyes and roll down his cheeks, crying out around the girth of Richie.

Richie pulls out all the way, watching as Seth coughs and struggles to keep his gaze fixed on Richie—he comes close to asking, verging on stopping, tucking his dick away, but Seth grasps his hips, swallowing, working his sore muscles until he can breathe, until he can speak. “Again,” he grounds out, “come on, Richard, fuck my mouth—like you mean it.” Seth’s gaze smolders, his brown eyes turned flinty in the shadow of the alleyway, a daring look, needling Richie with just his eyes. “Like you wanna show me who I belong to.”

The brick under his palms scrapes up his skin and hurts when his fingers curl, digging into the edge, trying to keep his grip as his hips jerk forward, thrusting into Seth’s open mouth, wet and ready for him, ready to swallow him whole. Seth’s hands slide up from his hips to grab at Richie’s ass, hands squeezing, eliciting a yelp as he pulls Richie forward, holds Richie in place, cock shoved all the way down his brother’s throat.

“Jesus Christ,” Richie gasps out, trying to pull back, pick up a rhythm, but Seth moans around him, his eyes fluttering closed as his nose nuzzles into the thatch of hair above Richie’s cock, inhaling deep, breathing Richie in. His hands wander across his ass, grabbing up fistfuls then letting go, massaging Richie’s cock with just his throat, constricting and tightening around him. “I’ll come before I even fuck your mouth properly, brother.”

Seth releases him, just like that.

A trail of saliva dangles from his cock, dripping down Seth’s chin as Seth looks up at him from his knees, waiting, patient. “Good boy,” Richie says, before he can stop himself, liking the way Seth’s mouth curves too much, the way his hands stroke over the curves of Richie’s ass in anticipation.

Richie thrusts in, nudging Seth against the brick with his hips, not holding this time, no pauses, rolling his hips back as Seth makes a perfect “O’” around his cock, taking the pace as Richie picks it up, fucking his mouth now as he groans and growls, something feral and violent crawling out from under his skin.

“Fuck, fuck,” he chants, a litany of filthy little sounds coming from Seth below him, whimpering and whining, underscoring the wet slap of Richie working his cock in and out, edging close now, he can feel it coil deep in his gut. “You were made for this, weren’t you? So fucking good at taking my cock.”

Seth can’t answer, not with his mouth full, but Richie feels his moan all the way down to his toes, a white-hot pulse of pleasure rolling through his body as he picks up a rhythm, thrusting in and out with steady, powerful strokes; he thinks about spilling down Seth’s throat, wondering if Mr. Athletic Gear did that too, or if Seth spit him out onto the ground, replacing his taste with Richie on his tongue, but when the spike start to crest, he pulls out.

Richie spills out onto Seth’s face, splashing over his cheeks, making Seth’s lips and chin drip with his come, his cock jerking in spurts. Seth’s face is shiny when he’s done, a milky white sheen to his skin, Richie’s release thick and sticking across his face. Seth’s tongue is red when it dips out, sweeping across his mouth—lips swollen now, going to be bruised in a few hours, purple-tinged and dusty, but Seth laps up Richie’s come with long drags of his tongue, curling the tip to get every drop. Richie snaps from watching him, dropping his hands and reach down for Seth, dragging him to his feet from under his arms, shoving him back against the wall as Richie pushes a hand between them.

Seth’s cock is hard, dampening the front of his pants, hot under layers of fabric—his hips jolt as Richie cups him, rocking into Richie’s hand, into the grinding sensation of his palm. “I got you all messy,” Richie says, his mouth against Seth’s ear, so close to the roughened whimpering that rasps out of Seth’s throat. “You look good all covered in my come.” Richie dashes his tongue out, catching the rolling drop that makes it way down Seth’s neck and drags his tongue up, licking a stripe across the side of Seth’s face, swallowing down the taste of himself from his brother’s cheek. “Taste good all drenched in it.”

Richie licks along Seth’s jawline until their mouths meet, Richie pressing in as his tongue slips inside, kissing Seth with both their tongues slick with his release, pushing it back and forth as they kiss until Seth swallows it all.

“I bet you’re ready to burst,” Richie says, pulling away and giving the bulge in Seth’s pants a good squeeze.

Seth nods, biting his lip to stop a sharp cry. “Please, Richie, please let me come.”

Richie rubs his hand over him, still thinking about what brought them here, the hurt still poisoning his gut, a bitter desire to keep Seth like this, needy and wanting, for a little while longer making him pull his hand away. He tugs up his pants, tucking his softening dick away into his underwear as he buttons and zips his pants, buckling his belt back around himself as Seth watches.

“Later,” Richie tells Seth, using his jacket to mop up the rest of the mess and cupping his cheek. “Later, sweetheart—first I want to see how long you last without someone touching you.” Richie leans forward—Seth trembling against him, under his hands, a shuddering whine pushing past his tightened jaw—and presses a kiss to his forehead, holding Seth’s face in his hands. “Then I will do whatever I like to you.”

Richie lets go and Seth’s legs almost go out beneath him, but he catches himself, wobbling with slight jerking movements as he gets a handle on standing as Richie walks on, feeling Seth follow behind him.

 

 

 

 

**iii.**

It was a risky fucking con Seth had pulled, but he pulled it off, even with Richie’s breathing going quick, his heart racing as Seth wound an arm around him, grinned and laid a hand on his chest. The lies spilled out of his mouth easy, shoving a cheap ring on Richie’s finger, then on his own before they walked in. Seth made sure their suit jackets were buttoned up and Richie’s hair was laying flat, licking his thumb to brush away a smudge on Richie’s cheek. He was careful to keep his hand curled as he knocked against the front desk, keep his fingernails out of sight, but the band on display. Seth knew he was pushing his luck when he brushed their mouths together, turning Richie’s face towards his as he kissed him, pulling away leaving Richie flushed and shudder-still. 

_ He’s just shy,  _ Seth joked as the man behind the desk handed Seth the card key, _ it’s all so new to him, our marriage.  _

Seth wound their hands together, led Richie away as he lifted his hand to his lips, kissing his knuckles before spinning him into an elevator, shoving the keycard into his pocket. 

Richie kept silent the whole ride up, fists clenching and unclenching, body coiled tense, like he was ready to pounce, but Richie had kept himself together, as always, his brother good at keeping himself on lock. They exit together into a hallway with only one door— _ penthouse fucking suite, brother _ , he had whispered to Richie when he pushed him into the elevator, _ we should get married every time we stay in a hotel. _

Seth watches the tension in Richie’s jaw, the jump in his cheek, can see the lecture ready to burst off his tongue, ready to be unleashed. Seth considers shoving him on the bed, pushing it back down his throat where it belongs, unheard, but his tie felt too tight around his neck and Seth knew there were more ways to distract his brother. Richie’s gaze fixes on him as he slides out of his coat and pulls off his tie, walking out of his shoes and undoing his belt, walking through the too fucking opulent setting, but they’d fucking earned it, after tonight. Seth strips to his skin, leaving a trail of his ruined suit behind him, whittling himself down to the grime and blood clinging to his skin, to the aches and bruises their mark left before Richie ended his life, walking towards the bathroom and hoping Richie will follow. 

The bathtub is bigger than he thought it would be, steps necessary to get in and out. Seth turns on the water as he plugs up the drain, feeling with his fingers for the right temperature, trying to resist the urge to turn it just this side of boiling. He counts down the seconds, waiting for the sound of his brother’s footsteps, an old shame creeping up his throat, strangling him, wondering if he should have opted for the shower, scrub himself clean before giving himself over to Richie. 

Seth startles when Richie sucks in a breath, their gazes catching across the room, his eyes never straying from Seth, the kind of gaze that hurts if Seth looks at too long, but he lets Richie look, staring back at the way Richie looks under the bright lights of the room, down to his briefs, body standing up proud and tall, filling up the doorways with the breadth of his shoulders. Seth’s dick can’t help but wake up, cock half-hard and curving up towards his stomach as Richie bends at the waist, fingers hooking into his underwear, dragging them down his legs as Seth watches. 

Seth looks at him, eyes raking up and down his body in an open way, taking in all of Richie’s bare skin, the way his cock seems to grow in a way that makes Seth’s cock twitch, his mouth go dry. “Get in,” he commands, his tongue flickering out across his lips. Richie complies, climbing the tiny set of steps and lowers himself in the hot water. 

Seth follows after, stepping in, but walking towards Richie, feet bracing his legs until he lowers himself to his knees, settling on Richie’s lap in the water—now that Richie is here, he can’t think of anything else, wanting to feel him under his hands, against his skin. Seth reaches out to lay his hands Richie’s shoulders, balancing himself as he rocks closer, their cocks sliding together in the water, an electric buzz building up from the apex of his thighs. Seth leans in, tugging Richie closer with his hand at the back of Richie’s neck. “I told you this was a great fucking idea,” he whispers against Richie’s mouth, pressing down as Richie gasps, jerking up; Seth grins.    


Their tub back home was small and narrow and never deep enough, but they always managed to fit, tucked close enough that the cool air against the heat of the water never felt biting when they were skin on skin. Even with all this room, Seth twists off Richie’s lap and leans back against his chest, changing into a familiar position, Richie’s legs cradling him as he waits for Richie to wrap his arms around him, letting his head hall back against Richie’s shoulder. 

Whenever they did this, get in the bath together, Seth liked to rock his hips back, his ass rubbing against Richie’s cock until he was hard, starting something Richie would damn well finish; they’d soak the bathroom floor, wrestling and thrusting, until it brought their downstairs neighbor to their door. Richie always let Seth deal with her, let him listen to the scolding about her leaking ceiling— _ serves you fucking right _ , Richie would tell him, but Seth always felt like it was worth it, would do again and again. But other times he flopped against Richie, head resting on his shoulder and throat exposed, breathing in and out slow, timed to the beats of their hearts—sometimes he fell asleep like that and woke to cold water, Richie still holding him.

Seth craves this, wants it to heal his frayed nerves and to chase away the shakes, loosen the muscles in his throat so he can breathe free, clear and easy—Seth knows Richie loved this, takes advantage of it, putting himself into Richie’s hands, letting Richie take care of him—fucking instinct, a reflex, been that way since they were kids and the only person who made sure he was clean was Richie. 

(he knew he didn’t deserve it, but there were a lot of things Seth didn’t deserve, but stole anyway, claimed his by rights) 

Richie reaches for the hotel shampoo, a full bottle of a brand Seth has never heard of. He pours the silky liquid into his hands and brings it to Seth’s hair, coating the strands as his fingers rub at Seth’s scalp, turning his curls sudsy just like when they were kids. Seth leans against his hands, humming like he’d purr if he could, a warmth builds in Richie’s chest, allowing his sore limbs to stretch and relax.

“You okay?” Richie asks, massaging his hands over Seth’s head, moving to the back of his neck, digging his fingers into still tense muscles. 

“Yeah,” Seth says, tilting his head back as Richie lifts his chin—his hand can’t carry much, but he cups enough to start rinsing Seth’s hair, pouring the water over his head, watching as the lather dissolves into clarity. The water slips down Seth’s arms and over his chest, and Seth winces at the burn of the soap on his cuts and scrapes, his blood turning the water pink-ish. He feels his hair straighten with the weight of the water, the ends grazing the base of his neck, sticking to his skin and itching. “You don’t have to do this, you know.”

Richie leans in close, lips against Seth’s ear, breath chilled against the wetness of Seth’s skin, a shudder working his body loose with an exhale, letting him sink further into Richie. “I know,” he says, nuzzling behind Seth’s ear, the slope of his neck. “But I want to. Can’t I get you fixed up because I want to?” 

Seth swallows, trying to smooth out the churning in his guts, pressing his tongue against the back of his teeth to keep from spitting mean, pushing Richie away and climbing out of the tub to get enough space between them. He remembers this, like he couldn’t get clean enough, Richie’s hands searing his skin, too fucking good for him, too much for him to deserve; it’s been a long time, but if he counts back it’s been no time at all, how easy he slid into the role, playing honeytrap and whore as his brother snuck around their mark’s back, taking a pistol whip to the jaw and a beating when he figured it out, until Richie shot him clean through the head, letting his corpse crumple at Seth’s feet. 

Blood and semen almost taste the same, the salt sticking to his tongue after he spit the mess out—his blood, the mark’s come, intermingling in way that had him puking out onto his pristine cherry wood floors, the stomach acid eroding anything else away. 

“You with me, brother?” Richie asks, pushing through the fog of memories, his hand sliding up to rest heavy over Seth’s heart, his other hand dipping under the water, following the path of Seth’s stomach. “Don’t go back there, Seth, it’s over. You’re with me now.” 

Seth isn’t sure if he was hard before or after Richie’s hand curled around him, if he was hard all along (hard from Richie shooting the mark through the head, aching between his legs even as he vomited), but Richie’s fingers gripping him tight, palm stretched around his girth makes him come back to the moment with a jerk of his hips, the throbbing tugging on his guts, twisting them up as his belly grows hot, muscles tight. “Fuck,” he gasps, rolling his head back onto Richie’s broad shoulder, his cheek sticking to his brother’s. 

Richie strokes up, then down, long clean caresses under the water, his fingers stopping to press into the underside of Seth’s cock, against the soft skin where his balls start to hang, rubbing circles there as he rubs his other hand across Seth’s chest. “You with me?” Richie asks again, the edge of his thumb toying with Seth’s nipple. 

Seth starts to pant, can’t get a handle on his breathing—this is new, heady and delicious, the wet slide of the water working with Richie’s slight, careful touches, the pointed edge of them ready to take Seth apart. “I’m here,” he says, voice rough, throat constricting around the words as he tries to gulp at the air. “With you.” 

“That’s a good boy,” Richie says, kissing the edge of his jaw—then his hands fall away, Seth’s breath coming back to him, his stomach bottoming out. A protest comes to his tongue, he tries to grab at Richie’s arms, but Richie grabs his first, picking Seth up by his armpits, dragging him up out of the water as he stands, hauling him off his feet, expecting Seth to catch up as he steps over the edge of the tub and Seth steps out with him. Richie sets him on his feet on the plush, thick bath mat, leaving him exposed to the air as he walks away, looking around the too big bathroom, leaving Seth shivering, dripping and erect. 

“What are you doing?” Seth asks, about to climb back over the edge of the tub, into the heat of the water, but Richie grabs him around the waist and wraps a thick cotton towel around him, trapping his arms as Richie hoists him up, bending his knees until Richie has Seth bent in half over his shoulder. “Hey!” Seth says, trying to wriggle down, but Richie holds tight. “Jesus Christ, Richard, put me the fuck down.” 

Richie doesn’t listen, carrying him through the suite, past the sitting room and into the bedroom—it’s there that he drops Seth, lays him flat across the california king bed, on top of the down comforter. “What the fuck?” Seth snarls at Richie, trying to get up, but Richie shoves him back down against the mattress, pulling the towel out from under him. If he wasn’t already hard, if he wasn’t pissed at how abrupt Richie carried him and dropped him, he would be arching into his hands and spreading his legs, begging for it with his body, but his arousal has begun to hurt, too hard too long. 

“Relax,” Richie says, leaning over Seth, hand on his chest, both of them damp and hard, but Richie doesn’t seem interested in fixing that any time soon. “I’m just going to dry you off.” 

Richie lets up, replacing his hands with the towel, rubbing across Seth’s torso and over his hips, then switching course and heading for his neck, his hair. “I don’t need to be fucking dry if you’re just going to fuck me,” Seth says, but can’t help the flip his stomach makes under Richie’s attention, under Richie’s care, drying him up as if he were a little kid, ready to pull on his pajamas and tuck him into bed. 

“Shh,” Richie says, tapping his fingers across Seth’s mouth. “Good boys are quiet.” 

Seth grabs onto Richie’s wrist, keeping his fingers against his mouth as he opens up and sucks them inside, holding Richie’s gaze as he licks between his index and middle finger, sucking on the ends as he lets his hand go, waiting for Richie to draw his fingers from his mouth. 

“I’m not a good boy,” Seth says, rolling his body under Richie, letting their cocks brush up against each other, grinning when Richie moans. “I’m a bad boy.” 

Richie stares down at Seth, eyes blue fire, but also blank, unreadable. Sometimes his brother was the unpredictable one, the impulsive one, there’s so much going on in that big brain of his that Seth hasn’t even begun to understand. Richie pulls up on his arms, hoisting him from the bed; he doesn’t pick him up this time, sets Seth down on his feet and nudges him forward. Richie herds Seth over to the window. 

It’s less a window and more a wall made of glass, from floor to ceiling, nothing but a view of the city from up on high, the two of them standing on the edge, the precipice of the world—just the two of them, Seth thinks, just  _ you and me _ , as Richie presses against his back, their skin meeting from hips to shoulders. 

“You’re not bad,” Richie whispers as his arms come around him, tucking Seth close to him, arms wound tight over Seth’s ribcage, breath making Seth shudder as it ghosts over his jaw, his neck. “You know that, right?” Richie’s hold loosens as his hands travel the expanse of Seth’s torso, over his chest and his own stomach, fingers skimming the edge of his pubic hair, but dragging his hand back up just as fast—Richie kisses the curve of his neck and down the slope of his shoulder while his hands move to cup his pectoral muscles, thumbs circling Seth’s nipples, making Seth buck his hips back, feeling Richie’s cock pressed against his tailbone. “Can you see yourself? Look up, you can see yourself against the window.”

Seth looks up and sees the faint reflection of them against the darkness of the night, the glass turning mirror in the dull glow of the city below and the lights of the room turning into backlights, creating quite the picture—him and Richie, lacking definition and wound together, melding into one another. “You see how beautiful you are?” Richie asks, nuzzling under Seth’s chin, running his fingers down his arms, over the black flames that Richie loves to trace and stroke. 

Seth swallows, looking at them, knowing people can look in and see them, if they were high enough, see how Richie holds him and how he lets him, naked for the whole world to see, stripped to who they really are—no cons or lies, not now.  “Richie,” Seth says, trying to press back, trying to start something; it’s too much, listening to Richie, letting Richie pet him and touch him, too much to feel Richie be sweet while his guts are still churning, caught between arousal and repulsion, wanting Richie to pick one, let him feel just one. 

“I got you,” Richie says; sometimes Richie knows, knows just what he needs without Seth saying anything—it’s not innate like it is for Seth, but something between them, ingrained in them, grown from their marrow that makes them know without words, can just look at each other and know what they other is going to do, what the other wants, needs. Richie lets his hand slide back down, combing through the curled thicket of Seth’s hair before taking his cock into his palm, his fingers wrapping around the base of him, then he grips his cock. “Don’t worry, I’m gonna take take of you, always do.” 

Seth trembles when Richie twists his hand up his cock, going slow, but keep his grip tight, whimpering when Richie’s other hand lands on his hips, then slides back to his ass, fingers delving between his cheeks as Richie nudges Seth’s ankles open to give him easier access. It’s nothing new, but Seth is so keyed up that it feels too much, too intense, the pleasure spiking high and bordering on painful—been too hard too fucking long and just Richie’s hands are too much. His gut rolls over and bottoms out, like taking a steel dive, all his internal organs free falling, rising up in his throat as Richie jerks him off, as Richie’s fingertips dance around his hole. 

“Fuck,” Seth gasps, shaking in his brother’s arms as Richie works his cock into a steady rhythm, crying out when his slick fingers are stretching him open, slipping in slow, then pulling out with a drag that reverberates up his spine. “Gonna fuck me? That how you’re gonna take care of me? Give me your cock? ‘Cuz that’s what I want, want you so deep in me, make me forget—” 

Richie cuts him off with a quick thrust of his fingers, curled up as his thumb rubs over the head of Seth’s cock. “Quiet, baby,” Richie says, nipping at the skin under his jaw. “I am gonna get you off how I want to, just be quiet, I got you in my hands—don’t you trust me?” 

Seth swallows, throat straining against the tenseness of his muscles. Richie forces him to look ahead, making him watch as Richie gets him off with just his hands; it’s intense, but not the kind that can blot out his mind, make him think of nothing but the slap of skin and the meeting of their bodies—Richie grounds him with his feet on the floor and his hands around him, inside of him, his heart beating against Seth’s back, and his breath on his neck. It’s too meticulous and careful, the way Richie stretches him open with one, then two, then three fingers, rubbing inside him and hitting that white-hot pleasure with the pads of his fingers, stroking it as he cups Seth’s balls, massaging them with the palm of his hand. 

Richie does this—takes him apart, dismantling him, making him feel every touch and doesn’t let him lose himself in the sensation, keeps Seth still against his chest, his hands the only thing pushing Seth to the edge.

“Jesus fucking christ, Richie,” Seth gasps, trying to push his hips back, rolling his body against Richie, make the friction go faster, harder, but Richie has his hips locked down against him, arms trapped against his sides, his fingernails digging into his own thighs as Richie makes him take it. “Do something.” 

Richie kisses his neck, wet and open-mouthed. “I am.” Richie moves his hand back to his cock, jerking him off in steady rhythmic strokes—a small mercy. Seth starts to feel his release crest, emerging in the tightening of his muscles, tensing, locking up around Richie’s fingers, his toes curling against the floor. Then Richie lets him go, fingers pulling out of him, leaving him pulsing around emptiness. 

“What the fuck?” Seth asks, frustration replacing the build up of pleasure inside his body, making it recede, quicker than it came, the ache beginning to hurt as he tries to turn around, but Richie shoves him forward, Seth putting up his hands to catch on the glass as Richie pushes him up against the window, his foot kicking Seth’s ankles apart. 

Richie’s hand grips the back of his neck, pushing Seth’s forehead against the cool glass, making him shiver across his overheated skin. “Keep your hands there and don’t move,” Richie commands.

Seth bites down on his tongue before he gives him lip, keep from lashing out, acting on that flare of anger and frustration, and feel Richie stop and not keep going, not giving him whatever he wants to give Seth. “Okay,” he breathes out, his breath fogging up the glass next to his face. “Okay, brother.” 

Richie’s hands strokes across the back of his neck and travels the breadth of his shoulders, fingers tracing the length of his spine. “That’s a good boy,” Richie says, his voice lowered, deep, warm and velvet in his ear, then Richie’s warmth is gone, just his hand going to his back, down his tailbone, then Seth feels him between his legs, shoulder spreading his thighs as Richie’s hands push open his cheeks. 

His tongue slides right in, easy now that Richie has loosened him, his mouth opening up over him, sucking on his hole. Richie fucks his tongue in, thrusting as deep as he can, then rolling inside of Seth, circling the edge of his entrance, then doing it all over again. The warm, slick slide of Richie’s tongue ignites a different sort of pleasure, the way Richie controls how he thrusts and expands and twists his tongue feels like Richie is consuming him, instead of taking him, turning Seth inside-out. His guts drop down low and his cock jerks, twitching free in the air as Seth leans forward, letting his cheek rest against the glass as he cries out, unable to bite it back anymore, his body breaking out into a sweat and shuddering. Richie’s hands cup his ass, squeezing as he holds him open, burying his face there, fucking Seth with his mouth with the same focused intensity he does everything. 

“Richie, fuck, Richie,” Seth pants out, unable to make sense of what he wants to say, if he wants to say anything, noises coming out of his throat rough and inhuman, whining and moaning, until his eyes fall shut as Richie’s tongue trips him over the precipice Richie has been hanging him off of for what seemed like hours. His orgasm kicks out of him, hard and sharp wave of pleasure overtaking him as he releases out onto the glass, dripping on the floor around his feet, warm droplets of come as his cock pulses and twitches, his ass clenching around Richie’s tongue. 

Seth doesn’t feel Richie leave him, still trembling against the glass of the window, sweaty hands slipping down the smooth surface as he tries to stay on his feet while his knees shake and his legs feel on the verge of collapse. Richie catches him before he falls, arms wrapping over his chest and tucking Seth against him, pulling him up from the window and kissing the nape of Seth’s neck. 

“I got you, I got you,” Richie whispers, nuzzling the crook where Seth’s neck meets his shoulder. “I got you and you were so good, so fucking good.” 

A part of Seth wants to take it, what Richie is offering, melt into Richie’s arms and let him hold him through the aftershocks, but a flurry of energy rushes through him, loud and strong, making him shake off Richie’s hold and turn around to meet him, face to face. Richie’s eyes are bright and lips are red, setting off the blue and Seth wants to kiss them, taste himself off Richie’s tongue, but not yet—there is time enough for that. “My turn,” he says, grabbing Richie by the shoulders and shoving him back until the heels of his feet meet the foot of the armchair set in the corner. 

He goes easy, sitting when Seth pushes him and tugs on Seth’s hips when Seth climbs up into his lap, holds Seth as he wraps his fingers around Richie’s cock, soft skin sticky from how much he leaked, hard this whole time. Richie’s cock slips right into him, no resistance when Seth sits down on him, his ass pressed to the front of Richie’s thighs—loose enough from Richie’s fingers, wet enough from Richie’s tongue, the sensation too much it burns and makes his eyes water, but Seth wouldn’t trade back the way Richie’s mouth falls open and the sound of his cry when Seth slides all down, the way his moan chokes him off when he is seated all the way inside of Seth. 

“I told you,” Seth says, reaching up to cup Richie’s face between his palms, shifting his hips a little just to feel how Richie fills him, let Richie feel his ass grip him, his thumbs drifting to feel the swell of Richie’s lips, holding his gaze, while his cock softens, but it doesn’t matter, not right now—it’s Richie’s turn.

“I wanted you inside me, brother. Now I’m going to take care of you.”

 

 

 

 

**iv.**

Seth kisses Richie, hands curling in the lapels of his suit jacket, shoving him back against the brick wall with his hands and his mouth, sliding his tongue inside as Richie opens up to gasp, hands reaching up to grasp his face.

They don’t do this, kiss before jobs ( _it’s a distraction_ , he told Seth when he tried before their fifth gas station, _I can’t go in there with my head all fucked up because of you_ ), but Seth’s been shaking with nervous energy since they woke up this morning, unable to sit still, spent an hour taking apart their guns, cleaning them, and putting them back together, then doing it all over again—something to settle his hands _._ Seth has always needed to grab onto something, feel it out, work it between his fingers to steady his hands—sometimes it was their guns, or a car they stole, but his favorite was Richie, touching his skin, hands on his body; Richie doesn’t think he can help it.

It’s dangerous. All jobs are, there’s always a risk, a security guard who gets a clear shot or a hostage who’s packing and decides to play hero and it’s _game over_ —they always say they got nothing to lose, but they do, walk in with everything they have by their side and the hope and insurance of their guns that they’ll make it out with each other intact. This time, the window was short and Richie knows he did a rushed job of casing the bank—rookie goddamn mistake, it makes him feel like a fucking amateur—and now they’re going in with blind spots.

It sets his heart racing and makes his palms sweat, and maybe he doesn’t shove Seth away like he would have, should have, but digs his fingernails into his neck and grips tight, kissing back hard until Seth groans against his mouth.

It’s Seth that yanks himself away, breaking away like he needed to cut himself off before he took too much (consumed Richie and himself, too) shoving back and breathing hard, his hands lights on Richie’s chest, pulling his jacket to rights, brushing it flat.

Richie goes in with his mouth swollen and tasting like Seth, and it fucks with him, like he knew it would, fucks with his nerves shaking through his system, makes his fingers fumble with the dial, his heart making it difficult to hear as his blood floods his ears, blurs his vision. It’s a rule, they don’t do it until after, breathless and thankful, kissing because they fucking did it, getting a taste for each other’s breath, hands on each other’s skin a proof of life.

Richie can’t stop thinking of what he has to lose, Seth hovering at his side.

Seth is cool, lays his hand across the back of Richie’s neck, gives back what he stole. He keeps control of the patrons, keeps the tellers organized, talks the manager into giving him the code with his gun digging into his ribs so hard Richie swears his eyes pop.

They get out with the score, a bag of heavy stacks of bills curled in Richie’s hand, kicking at his legs as they run on foot, weaving through back alleys and climbing over buildings aided by fire escapes, losing any trace of the law until they’ve circled the city and brought themselves back to their shitty little hole in the wall they call home.

Seth laughs, loud in an a way that makes Richie’s ears ache, or maybe it’s his chest—something aches at the cracking, happy sound that leaps out of Seth’s mouth when he falls against the door, slamming it closed with his body weight, hand behind him setting the locks. “Good luck kisses aren’t a curse, brother—I fucking told you,” he says, mouth curving, still pink, lips still swollen. His eyes are bright underneath his lashes when he looks up at Richie, half-lidded like they’d just been to bed.

Richie drops the bag like it hadn’t mattered that much (it hadn’t, it never would—it was money, but Seth was Seth, and Richie knew what kept him breathing) and grabs for Seth’s tie, already loose and half-undone, and pulls him by it, could choke him but drags him instead, uses it like it’s a leash.

Seth goes easy, following while his eyes never leave Richie, heavy and burning through his clothes. Richie’s rough when he shoves Seth down on the bed and climbs over him, on top of him, pinning Seth’s hips with his knees and spreading him out across the rumpled sheets, dirty from last night, dirty from them—Seth looks good like this, arms stretched above his head, displayed against their filth, grin sharp and smug.

Richie curls a hand over both Seth’s wrist and reaches for the back of his head, combing his fingers through his hair until he grips, yanking Seth’s head back by the strands—he yelps, softened by a gasp, his mouth falling open; Richie arches over him, ducking down to kiss him, tongue delving in and opening his mouth wider.

“You don’t know how I felt,” Richie says, biting his mouth away from Seth’s, leaning his forehead onto his brother’s underneath him and holds Seth’s gaze, hast-mast and half-gone with lust, but Richie can’t stop the words stuttering out of his mouth. “I couldn’t stop shaking, brother, I couldn’t stop _thinking_ , I couldn’t—”

He kisses Seth again because it’s what he needs, always needs—after, them skin to skin, breathing from Seth’s mouth because that’s the only way he knows how.

Richie transfers Seth’s wrists to one hand as the other skates down the side of his face, palm cupping around his neck as he presses his thumb against the rapid flutter of his pulse, holds there a moment as Seth moans against his mouth, licks up against the roof of his mouth. This is what he wanted, this is what he needed to shake the nerves out of his system, his livewire brother hot and arching underneath him, nipping at his lips as Richie’s finger get caught around his tie, undoing the knot and pulling it from his neck.

“I got you,” Richie breathes—like a prayer, but to them more holy, a sacrament, a vow, unbreakable, as sweet as a child’s lullaby, one he used to whisper into Seth’s ear when they were barely old enough to understand the meaning—and presses his mouth over Seth’s once more while he reaches up, winding Seth’s tie around his held wrists.

Seth watches him through binding his wrists, his breaths coming out in quick, soft pants that ghost over Richie’s throat, Seth’s chest stuttering against his own. Richie keeps winding the silk between and over, knotting it tight and secure, intricate knots he’d practiced over and over, to get it right— _for hostages_ , he thinks, shuddering looking down at Seth when he drops his hands to the mattress, tied together; Seth’s mouth parted, his cheeks darkening.

Richie swallows.

“Stay still,” he tells Seth, and Seth listens.

Richie works open the top button of his shirt, fingers fumbling like they had on the dial, big and useless—he grabs Seth’s collar, instead, gripping his shit in his fist and pulls it apart, snapping buttons and tearing cotton, doing the same to his undershirt, stretching the thin fabric until it gave and broke, leaving Seth bare when he parts the ripped shirt. Richie stretches his hand out across Seth’s skin, starting at his hip and stroking up his torso. He nudges a thumb against Seth’s nipple—pebbled and erect and levels his spine up, makes Seth moan—to his way to press over his heart, to feel the _rat-a-tat-tat_ beat that thumps against his palm as his other hand strokes lower, pulling open Seth’s belt.

Seth’s hot in his hand, skin soft over his hard cock, leaking at the tip and making a mess in his underwear when Richie pulls him free, rubs down from the head to the base as Seth whimpers and squirms against the sheets.

“You want to come, brother?” Richie asks, turning his touches light to see his cock twitch and chase the sensation as Seth bites his lip. “I can make you come.”

Seth’s stomach muscles flex, his fingers curled against his palms above his tie. “ _Please_.”

Richie takes him in hand at the desperation in his voice, the strained sound, and starts to jerk him—he doesn’t lick his palm or get lube, lets it be a little rough, sticking in places, slick in other because Seth is leaking all over himself, just enough friction to burn, the way Seth likes, to feel the calluses of Richie’s palm against his cock when he fucks his hand. Richie grips him hard, working from the base to the head and down again, slow and steady, like he’d fuck him, like he might fuck him later, still tied like this with his legs spread. Seth tries to thrust up, heels of his feet digging into the mattress, but he can’t get enough leverage and ends up falling to the bed, back bowing when Richie digs his thumb under the head of his cock, rubbing in circles until he comes all over himself, white and hot, spilling onto his stomach, splashing up to his chest.

Seth falls limp, breathing with high heaves of his chest and moans when Richie keeps touching him, dragging the back of his knuckles down the underside of his twitching cock, his fingertip smearing Seth’s come across his chest, rubbing it around one nipple, and then the other. Richie ducks his head down to lick away the salty flavor—over his nipple, then up the center his sternum, swallowing the taste.

Richie collapses at Seth’s side as he runs his hand from Seth’s hip to his collarbone, curling into him, half on top of him, reaching further with sticky hands to untie the knots and set Seth’s wrists free.

Seth’s arms fall around him, over his back and combing through his hair, stroking down the back of his head as Richie buries his face in the crook of Seth’s neck, mouth moving against the space where his neck meets his shoulder. “It’s okay, Richie,” Seth soothes, but doesn’t apologize (never does, some bad habit he picked up or his only virtue, but it’s his—Seth never apologizes for the things he does, he never takes it back). “I got you,” he says, and it’s better, better than any sorry, and Richie feels his limbs loosen, the last of the tension leaving him and making him pliable.

He rolls on his back easy when Seth nudges him, getting his knees on either side of Richie as he straddled him, sits on his thighs while Seth gets his pants open, looking like a mess; like a dream with his mussed hair and torn shirt hanging of him, dick half-hard and hanging out of his trousers, a reddening mark at the base of his neck—he looks down at Richie with brown eyes alight, mouth twisting.

“Let me give you a hand with that, brother,” he says.

Richie would have groaned, but it comes out a whine, sharpened on the edge of the white-hot feeling of Seth’s hand on his, holding him tight.

 

 

 

 

 

**v.**

“What are you doing?” Richie asks, brow creasing when Seth turns to look at him, setting the car to park at the rest stop he pulled into off the side of the highway. “They’re still after us.”

“We lost them two towns back.” Seth reaches over, cupping his hand around the back of Richie’s neck, circling around the edge of his jaw with his thumb before moving higher, mussing up his slicked back hair. “We’re in the middle of fucking nowhere. We’re safe.” Seth presses his fingers against Richie’s skin—it’s overheated like his own and Seth wonders how fast his pulse must be going, if matches his fast but steady rhythm, if adrenaline is spiking through his system, making him restless and in need of release.

Seth draws his hand back, pulling at the tie of his cheap rental suit until it’s loose enough to pull over his head, tossing it in the back seat. His hands reach across the stick shift to Richie’s pants, undoing his belt as Richie watches, unblinking and intense. “We should keep moving,” Richie says, voice cracking; Seth watches him swallow down hard as he pulls on the zipper of his pants, the tips of his fingers teasing over the growing thickness of Richie’s cock, stroking him through the white cotton of his briefs.

“How long have you been hard?” Seth asks, pulling his hands back, letting his hands stroke down over his own torso, feeling Richie’s eyes follow his hands to his belt, watching him pull it open, undo his pants. Seth glances up from the corner of his eye, can see Richie go red, flushing bright in the afternoon sun—his eyes are dark, all pupil as he watches Seth, staring at him with fixed eyes.

“I’ve been hard since we go out, halfway to getting there watching you break open that safe like it was easy as cracking an egg.” He shrugs out of his jacket and leaves it in the driver’s seat as he climbs over the console and into Richie’s lap, straddling his thighs. “You see,” he says, grabbing Richie’s hand and tugging it down, pushing his hand into Seth’s pants, cupping his palm over the bulge in his briefs, rubbing Richie’s fingertips over the damp spot that soaked through from how much he leaked. “You see how hard I am?

“Yeah,” Richie says as Seth releases his hand—he expects Richie to move it, push him off, but Richie drags his fingers across the from of his brief, hooking into the pocket, shoving his hand down low to cup Seth from underneath. “Yeah, I can.” Richie glances up and Seth bites his bottom lip, liking the hungry look in Richie’s eyes—the switch he flipped. “What do you want to do about it?” he asks.

Seth grins and leans in close, pressing his hand down against the front of Richie’s pants, rubbing the the heel of his palm against his cock, grin broadening when Richie bucks up, a whine caught in the back of his throat, his eyes fluttering closed. “At first I thought I wanted to suck you off, right there against the safe,” he says, sliding his hand inside Richie’s briefs to pull him out—he strokes Richie’s cock, slow, leaning forward to rest their foreheads together. “But I think I want to ride you, fuck myself down on your cock— “ Seth pauses, pushing his hand lower as Richie’s legs spread underneath him, the tips of his fingers teasing the skin under his balls. “—or maybe I’ll fuck you, loosen you up a bit, show you we’re safe.”

Seth’s eyes follow the jump of Richie’s adam’s apple, watching the way Richie’s lips part as he inhales quick, body rolling under Seth. “Where?” Richie asks, voice strained under his panting breaths.

Seth hadn’t thought about where, mind rolling on a high of adrenaline and dangerous lust, doing whatever feels good, not slowing down to think, but Richie’s mind is always working, churning and processing, questioning even when Seth has his hand in his pants, squeezing his cock. Seth moves before his mind catches up, reaching for the door handle and pushing open the car door as he lands one foot in the gravel, his hands landing on Richie’s jacket, gripping the collar. Seth tugs Richie out of the car as his other foot lands on the ground, pulling Richie along using his unbalanced steps against him, hair mussed up and glasses askew, slamming the door shut behind them.

He backs Richie against the hood of the car, holding onto his jacket to keep him in place, pinning him with his hips against Richie’s—Seth lets go to slide his hands up Richie’s chest to his face, pushing his glasses up his nose, straightening them to rest even across his eyes. “Seth,” Richie says, voice light, breathless, his body trembling against Seth. “That’s not— we can’t, not out here— “

Seth cuts him off, stealing the rest of his protests with a hard press of his lips, fingers working at the knot at the base of Richie’s throat, loosening the loop encircling his neck and pulling the tie over Richie’s head, liking the taste of Richie’s gasp against his mouth. “We can,” he tells him, holding Richie’s gaze, cast down on his, his glasses shadowing his baby blues as Seth lets Richie’s tie fall to the ground. His fingers work quick at the top buttons of his shirt, looping them out through the starched cotton like second nature, gifting himself with more inches of Richie’s bare skin, fastening his mouth for a moment at Richie’s jugular, feeling the way his throat works under his mouth, swallowing heavy as he moans for Seth.

His fingers have grown used to the motion of undoing shirt buttons, but Seth can’t shake the temptation to pull and rip the rest of Richie’s shirt, edures the desire by kissing down Richie’s sternum as he pushes apart the starched cotton, moving to pay attention to each of his pinkened nipples, hardened by exposure to the air. Seth yanks the shirt from his loosened pants and pushes the rest off his shoulders and down his arms, taking his suit jacket with it, let it fall in a pile on the ground as he catches Richie’s gaze.

Even shoved back against the hood of the car, Richie shadows the sun, hovering above Seth with the bright rays behind him, outlining him their warm glow. Richie casts his gaze down on Seth, an intensity reserved for him alone, pupils magnified, blackening his baby blues. Richie’s tongue sweeps out to lick his plush swollen mouth, teeth biting into the flesh as Seth takes his fill—he admires he way he messed up Richie’s hair, no longer laying flat but at angles swept up from his fingers, the marks he left across Richie’s throat, bruises left by his lips and by his teeth, how his cock rises up from the gap in his fly, lifted by the waistband of his briefs Seth tugged down, the dark curling thatch of hair exposed to the sun.

Richie’s skin is warm under Seth’s hand, chest flushed, ruddy as his cheeks, burning the skin of Seth’s palm as he strokes down to his stomach, Richie’s abs squeezing at the contact, his breath hitching. His fingertips play with the ends of Richie’s pubic hair as his mouth waters to taste him, get down on his knees and swallow him all the way down, letting himself choke on Richie. He resists, though, sliding his hand across Richie’s lower stomach and grabbing ahold of Richie’s hips, pulling him off the car to spin him around, so Seth can shove Richie face-first against the hood of the car. Seth keeps his hand between Richie’s shoulder blades, pinning him there, feeling the way Richie’s back muscles work under his hand before spilling himself across Richie’s back, both of them moaning when Seth’s cock grazes Richie’s ass as Seth pushes Richie’s pants all the way down Richie’s hips, letting them fall to his knees.  

“Relax,” he whispers, mouth on Richie’s ear—he can’t deny he likes it, how Richie tenses and shudders underneath him, feeling how he struggles to hold himself together though Seth knows he’s going to take him apart. Richie gives, just a little, laying his palms on the sleek red hood, turning his head to press his cheek against the steel. “No one’s gonna see you like this but me.” Seth lets his cock slips between Richie’s cheeks, working his hips to rub his cock over Richie’s hole, not fucking him, not yet.  
  
There’s a part of Seth that wants someone to drive by, just for the thrill of it, of knowing someone else had seen how he got Richie with his pants around his knees and with his hands on the hood of the car, bent over until he spreads for Seth— see how good his pale skin looks against the cherry-red paintjob, flushed almost as bright. It turns his crank a little too hard, makes him ache to see his brother like this, bent over for him on a machine almost as beautiful as him, a ride Seth stole thinking about this, half-hard as he hotwired the engine, what Richie would look like bare skin on the body, dick leaving streaks of precome on the side.  
  
Seth spits in his hand, too wired up to dig out lube, Richie already keening for it as he wets his fingers, slipping them between his cock and Richie’s thighs, pushing inside. Richie moans when he curls his fingers, hooks them inside him and he opens up a bit more, something shaking loose when Seth hits the right spot, leaning more on the hood.

“Just do it, Seth, come on,” he breathes out, Richie’s voice strained, higher in pitch—Seth pulls back his fingers to thrust them back inside, just to hear the whine Richie makes. “I’m ready,” Richie says, arching his back as his hips rise up from the car—Seth sees everything, the way Richie presents himself, how Richie looks stretched around his fingers, puffy and slick and pink, pulsating under him like he wants to pull him deeper.  
  
Seth shoves his pants and underwear down his hips, his cock bobbing out; it feels good to get a hand on himself, but he doesn’t stroke, just squeezes, holding at the base as he draws his fingers out. “You want me, brother?” he says, tugging Richie’s hips back as he folds over on top of him, feeling the heat of Richie at the head of his dick—it takes all of his fucking self control to tease and not slide all the way in. “You want me to fuck you? Out here where anyone could see, bent over the car I stole for you, the one I’d knew you’d look fucking obscene bent over, so needy for my dick.”  
  
“Please.” Richie rolls his hips back and Seth feels himself slip inside, but holds steady against the white-hot pressure at the small of his back, urging him to push forward, that would ease up if he let his hips snap.  
  
Richie tastes like salt at the back of his neck, sweating under the strain under the hot afternoon sun. “Say it,” he says, flickering his tongue over the curve of his ear.  
  
He breathes in deep under Seth, chest expanding and raising them both, making Seth collapse heavier when he exhales. “Fuck me, please,” Richie says. “I want you inside me.”  
  
They both moan, low and deep when Seth lets go and shoves forward, fucking inside Richie, feeling him tighten and contract around him, his heart pounding hard through his back, beating against Seth’s chest. “Love this,” Seth groans, nipping as Richie’s skin as he holds still inside him, wanting to be deeper, closer, right down inside his skin until their bones fuse. “Most natural feeling in the world.”

“Jesus,” Richie breathes out, making Seth grin against the skin of his back.

“I am not sure Jesus would approve, brother,” Seth says, sliding his hands down Richie’s sides, over his ribs and ducking to his waist. They stop at his hips, hooking his hands there, gripping tight as he rolls his hips back, slipping from Richie slow, both of them hissing at the friction, the burn of too little wetness, but they both like it like this sometimes—skin on skin, nothing in between, nothing to ease the way, just him rutting inside Richie until they both explode.

Richie tries to laugh, but he chokes on it when Seth thrusts back in, picking up a pace that suits him—slow, careful pull out with a hard, fast thrust in. Richie opens up for him a little more as Seth fucks into him, feeling the way Richie’s back arches and hips cant back, wanting more of Seth inside him, losing himself in the sensation and forgetting where Seth has him—bent over the hood of a stolen car on the side of the road in broad daylight.

Seth presses a kiss to the side of Richie’s neck, sucks a bruise into the spot just under his jaw as Richie moans and whines, rocking his hips, but all he gets is smooth sleek steel on his dick and Seth pressing his hips down.

“No, baby, I am going to fuck you how I want to, nice and steady,” he says, while Richie’s hands curl against the shine of the paintjob. Seth grabs for them, wrapping his hands around Richie’s wrists as he pulls his arms behind him, crosses and folds Richie’s hands behind his back— Richie cries out, too quick to bite back, a shudder working its way through his limbs. “I knew you’d like that, gonna keep you like this until we come.”

“Fuck, Seth,” Richie groans, trying to shove up, shove back, trying to gain some of the control, but Seth has him pinned in a way that he can’t use his heft against him, arms twisted and legs spread, Seth fucking him without any pauses or stutters, the burning turning into white-hot pleasure as Seth hits the right spot inside him, every single thrust. “Fuck, you feel so good, you’re so goddamn thick.”

Seth feels his body slipping, a control edging close to snapping as his hips work in faster, harder; Richie meets him, spreading his thighs more, arching his back against the twist of his arms, like he wanted Seth in deeper, wanted Seth more. If someone drove past now, Seth wouldn’t hear them, not even if they honked, too lost to rush of his blood and the sound of Richie’s heartbeat, his own panting breaths and the noises Richie has given up on muffling, high loud whining and deep moans, a melody against the cadence of skin slapping together, the squeak of Richie’s sweat against the car.

When he comes, his vision whites out, his mouth open and crying out against Richie’s shoulder, then biting down when the pleasure crests near pain, too much and not enough—pressed as close as he can be to his brother as he comes inside him, fills him up with his release, shuddering and shaking as he lets go of Richie’s arms to press even closer.

“You okay?” he whispers, dragging his mouth across the breadth of Richie’s shoulders, noting the taste of blood in his mouth and the way his lips smear red over Richie’s pale, freckled skin, how he bit too deep, too hard—another mark, another way to say, _I was here and you belong to me and don’t you ever fucking forget it._

Richie only moves to stretch out his arms, letting Seth stay inside him, stay on stop of him, his cheek against the hood of the car. “Yeah,” Richie says, voice rough and soft, a sharp whine under his tone as Seth starts to feel his come drip out around the base of his cock. “Yeah, I’m fine.”

He knows they should break away soon, get dressed and hit the road—abandoned roads don’t stay abandoned this long—but he can’t help kissing the top of Richie’s spine, moving down to kiss every valley and hill, a warm fucking romantic feeling building in his chest after every time they fuck, wanting to kiss every part of Richie’s body, show him how much Seth worships him. Seth is on his knees before he realizes it, dirt and gravel digging into his skin, but he doesn’t care, not when his mouth is kissing Richie’s tailbone, tongue slipping into the space where his ass starts to emerge. Seth pets the insides of Richie’s thighs, nudging his shoulders between them as Richie gasps out but doesn’t move, doesn’t shove Seth back, doesn’t stop him.

“Seth,” he says, a weak warning, hissed between his teeth when Seth licks lower, hands on his cheeks, pushing them apart to look at Richie’s pink and swollen hole, wet and dripping with his come. “Fuck, Seth, we have to—” Richie starts, cut off with a gasp when Seth nudges his fingers around the hot, sensitive flesh, fucked raw. “—we have to get going.”

“I just want a little taste, brother,” Seth says, pushing his finger in, just the tip, just to feel how wet he made Richie, how sticky. Richie moans, a little sharper now, bordering more on pain than pleasure; Seth withdraws his finger, running his other hand over Richie’s flank, petting him, trying to soothe the hurt. “I wanna know what you taste like with me inside you.”

Seth doesn’t wait for his permission, ducks his head back down, licking up with the flat of his tongue, getting as much come with one swipe, pressing in a bit to make Richie feel it; Richie shivers, moans when Seth flicks his tongue around, delving in to get more of the taste—a briney tartness, a side rotten, the musk of Richie thick in his nose with notes of iron from where Richie tore, from the blood Seth still had in his mouth. “Fuck, Seth,” Richie groans somewhere above Seth’s head, above the feel of Seth’s face between Richie’s legs, the feeling of fucking his brother with his tongue after he fucked him with his cock. “Gonna get hard again, let’s go, we can finish this elsewhere, come on— _please_ , Seth.”

It sounds like begging, Richie’s breath coming out as a pant, voice too strained to sound like Richie, pitch higher than his lower registers, cracking when Seth swirls his tongue around him, lapping up the rest of his release when Richie clenches.

Seth takes pity on him, letting him up as he pushes himself back to his feet, pulling up his pants and buttoning them, fastening his belt and zipping his fly. Richie stays stretched out across the hood, worn out and fucked out— Seth should help him, but he watches for a moment, taking in the sight of his brother naked to his ankles, freshly fucked on the hood of a beautiful car, committing it to memory before he steps back towards him. Seth bends down to pick up the pile of dress pants and underwear, dragging them up Richie’s legs until he has them fastened over Richie’s hips. He almost has to haul Richie back onto his feet, but Richie goes when he pulls on his arm, picking himself up from the car and turning to face Seth.

He doesn’t get a good look at him because Richie blots out the sun, swooping down to press their mouths together, his too big hands cupping Seth’s face—Richie’s tongue invades his mouth with purpose, dragging his tongue around Seth’s, curling up against the roof, swiping the inside of his cheeks as he moans, breaking away as Seth gets caught between his too blue eyes and bright red mouth. “What?” Richie asks, mouth quirking at the corner. “You don’t think I wanted a taste, too?”

Seth laughs like a kick under his ribs, folding over for a moment, catching himself on Richie’s shoulder, squeezing the sun warmed skin under his palm, until he pushes up on the balls of his feet to brush his lips across Richie’s. “I’ll give you a taste whenever you want, brother, but let’s go, we’re wasting daylight.”

Seth lands back on his heels, pulling away from Richie so they can get moving, bending down to swipe up Richie’s shirt and jacket, his tie as Richie climbs back into the passenger’s seat. Seth tosses him his clothes, but Richie keeps them in his lap, choosing to stay as he is while Seth settles behind the steering wheel. The sun is still bright, making Richie’s skin glow, lighting up the marks Seth left on his neck, his wrists, the deepening purple standing out.

“You look good,” Seth says, jolting the car back to life, listening to the roar of the engine. “I like how you look like that.”

Richie flushes, red as the car, and Seth can’t help the laugh that bursts forth, resting his hand on the edge of Richie’s knee as he pulls back out onto the road.


End file.
